


Advanced Familial Reconciliation

by biggod



Series: Exponential Growth, As Observed in the Nadir-Barnes Family [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Abed's Mother - Freeform, Ableism, Bad Parenting, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Gen, Good Parents Troy and Abed, M/M, Protective Older Brothers, i'm making trobaby a tag if it's the last thing i do, trobaby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggod/pseuds/biggod
Summary: Abed has a half-brother he's never met. That doesn't stop him from wanting to be part of his life.Marcin doesn't find out he has a brother until he's seventeen. He doesn't know what to expect until he shows up on his doorstep with a backpack and a ten-year-old copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Series: Exponential Growth, As Observed in the Nadir-Barnes Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981298
Comments: 25
Kudos: 111





	Advanced Familial Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adorations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorations/gifts).



> happy birthday midge!!! surprise!!! love you <3

**part one. the setup.**

It's snowing outside, and the whole world looks grayish-purple in the dusk light. Their building's ancient heater is struggling to keep up with the demand, so Abed wears his thickest sweater and coziest socks; the Special Drink mix has been sacrificed to make regular hot chocolate. Inspector Spacetime plays softly on the TV before him. Annie is on her way home with takeout and packing tape.

Abed's hands are steady as he precision folds balloon-patterned wrapping paper over a flimsy plastic DVD case, careful not to attach any tape to the case itself. It's the week of Thanksgiving, and he needs to have this in the mail by Wednesday if he wants to be absolutely sure it will arrive on time - December 1st. He always gives himself extra time. He worries that last year's package got lost in the holiday rush.

Troy exits the former Dreamatorium humming. His eyes light up when he sees Abed is home, the way they always do. Abed tries not to think about it.

"Hey buddy!"

Abed has always liked the way Troy says that, how he never makes it sound infantilizing, like Annie. Or Jeff. Or Britta. _Stop thinking bad things about Britta_.

"Is that for Marcin?" Troy asks, plopping down into his own recliner. Abed nods.

"Treasure Planet this year. He might be a little too young for it still, but he can always grow into it."

"Nice." Troy watches the Inspector give Reggie a rousing speech with the mildest of interest. This wasn't their strongest episode. "You should do Emperor's New Groove sometime, movie's underrated."

"Already planned for year five." Abed decides he's satisfied with the wrapping paper and uncaps his sharpie to write _z miłością_ on the upper left corner.

"He's two now, right?" Troy's voice is softer, a touch more careful. Abed pauses.

"Yeah," he says, and recaps the marker. The wrapped package is placed carefully into a box filled to the brim with packing peanuts. He swivels his body in his chair for a moment, scanning the floor, before he spots the card near his foot, already signed and sealed. He grasps it gingerly and sets it flat on top of the DVD. All he needs now is the tape.

Troy's phone rings, which is only ever one person. None of their other friends use the call feature on their cell phones.

"Hey Britta," Troy says. He stands and moves into the kitchen; he always moves away when he's talking to her, like he's ashamed to be doing it in front of Abed, which should be ridiculous, but Abed won't complain. Troy never calls Britta _babe_ or _honey_ , he notes, none of the pet names that Abed has imagined Troy using, or really anything aside from her name. His eyes don't light up when she calls him.

Abed loves Britta. She was his first friend at Greendale. She has good intentions and she gets a bad rap a lot of the time, which she usually doesn't deserve. Abed should not - does not want to - feel angry when he sees her face.

Troy comes back with a bowl of chips and sighs when he sits back down, like he's happy to have that phone call out of the way.

\---

"I'm worried about him, Annie."

Troy sits behind the wheel, watching Abed through the glass front wall of the post office where he waits in line. After a year with Abed in LA, he still feels like it should be freezing by October-in-Colorado standards, but instead he flips the ac up a notch and adjusts his cell phone against his ear.

_"Is he acting weird about it?"_

"No, that's the problem. He's acting like it's totally normal. Every year he sends his little brother a birthday gift and every year he hears nothing. I don't think his mom even texts him back anymore."

_"Oh."_

"I hate watching it break his heart over and over again, Annie."

_"Well, what can you do about it?"_

"I don't know," Troy sighs, running his hand over his face. "I can't just ask him to give up, you know? I wouldn’t want to. And I can't talk to his mom, she pretends I don't exist."

_"I guess you've just got to be there for him, Troy. I know it's frustrating, but it probably helps more than anything else."_

Troy sighs again, noting Abed’s unusually slow pace as he exits the post office and heads for the car.

"I guess," he murmurs. He offers Abed a faint smile when he climbs into the passenger seat.

"You wanna talk to Annie?" he offers. Abed wiggles his fingers and lets out an excited little "yeah" that Troy finds adorable.

"Hey Annie!"

"Hey Abed!" he can still hear faintly. "I miss you guys so much--"

Troy tunes out, shifting the car into drive. He notices, as he waits to turn left into Los Angeles traffic, the way Abed's fingers curl into a white-knuckle fist and then release. They rest on his knee. He's looking out the window. Clench. Release.

\---

When Marcin is five (and a half), he wanders into his mom’s office, climbs up into her chair. There’s a picture of a boy there, next to the one she keeps of him; he’s about Marcin’s age, with dark hair and brown skin. He’s smiling broadly while holding a Spiderman comic book under one arm.

“Mama,” he asks, reaching for her. She’s pacing the small office, phone to her ear, on hold indefinitely. She doesn’t reach back.

Marcin sits back in the seat sadly. He looks at the boy again.

“Who is that, Mama?”

She stops pacing. She looks hesitant, but eventually covers the speaker with her palm.

“That’s Abed. He’s… family.”

He blinks.

“Well, does he want to play?”

“No. He’s much older than you. That’s a very old picture, kochanie.”

“Where is he, Mama?”

On the other end of the line, someone picks up. She starts pacing again as she talks.

The next time he goes into her office, the boy is gone.

\---

It's January 3rd, 2017. They’re still in Greendale for another few days; in addition to celebrating the holidays, they came back to announce their engagement, and subsequently to enlist Shirley and Jeff’s help with invitations before they return to LA. Troy gets bored of addressing envelopes very quickly, and Abed hates the feeling of the adhesive.

“You’re rich now, couldn’t you just pay someone to do this?” Jeff says, sulkily, but there’s no bite to it. They’re gathered at Shirley’s, and she’s got a handbells concert recorded from Christmas Eve playing on the TV as they sit around the kitchen table.

Troy laughs heartily.

“You’re still funny, Jeff.” He shakes his head and chuckles to himself like they’re part of an inside joke that Jeff doesn’t remember. There’s a distant clang from the kitchen, where Jordan and Elijah are making muffins.

“Abed,” Shirley says, looking over the address list Troy handed her this morning, “I think that’s all of them, hmm?” She passes him the clipboard, and he leans closer to Troy so they can look over it together.

“I think so,” says Troy, at the same time as Abed says, “My mom’s not on here.”

Troy swallows. “Oh, is she not?”

“No.” Abed scans the page again, dragging his fingertip down the side of the sheet to illustrate. “Nope, not on here. One more please, Shirley.”

She smiles and begins to stuff a new envelope. Abed’s gaze flicks over to Troy’s, and he raises one brow.

“I didn’t have her address,” Troy murmurs weakly.

Abed stares him down.

After what seems like years, but is really only a few long seconds, Abed looks away. For a moment Troy thinks they’re going to argue, and his heart sinks; but then Abed offers his hand, palm up on his knee. Troy sees it for the peace offering it is and accepts, squeezing lightly. Abed thanks Shirley once she’s finished, addresses the envelope from memory, and passes it to Jeff for the stamp.

Ben runs in with his nerf gun, a Christmas gift from the boys, and opens fire on Troy, who sustains several hits at point blank range. One bounces off his forehead, and Troy scowls comically at the six-year-old. Ben giggles and runs away, full of energy.

“I was there when you were _born_ , young man!” Troy calls after him in fake outrage, and smiles when the laughter continues down the hall. The corner of Abed’s mouth quirks upwards, and he squeezes Troy’s hand back.

They get married in April. Abed’s only family in attendance is his father.

\---

A letter comes in once, and it looks fancy. Marcin is seven years old now and he wants answers for everything.

When his mother opens the envelope, mutters something under her breath and tosses it immediately in the trash, he wants to know why.

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” his father says. This feels like something Marcin shouldn’t be hearing. He listens intently.

“He’s an adult, Gabriel. He’s been making decisions without me for a long time.” She grabs the contents of the envelope from the top of the trash heap and waves it for effect. _Gross._ “That much is obvious.”

“I think he’s offering you an opportunity to be in his life,” his father suggests gently. She sighs.

“I don’t know how to be in his life, Gabe. He doesn’t make any sense to me. I gave it a shot, but I’m not cut out for it. For… him.”

“Just give it some thought,” he says, taking the letter from her carefully. “Please.”

Marcin never sees what’s in the letter.

\---

Troy’s hands are covered in flour and pancake batter when Abed gets home.

Abed’s eyebrows are raised high as he takes in the scene: every surface in their kitchen has a light white dusting, like fresh indoor snowfall. Cookie batter sticks to the counter from underneath the layer of flour, which doesn’t seem like the correct order of things. There are trays of cooling sugar cookies spread across half of the kitchen table, and chocolate chip have claimed the other half. Troy stands at the stove in his apron, boxers and nothing else; when he hears the back door open into the room he turns to grin at Abed, waving his messy spatula.

“Do I want to know?” Abed asks, his sneakers leaving a trail to Troy on the floury floor.

Troy lifts his arms to the side to keep them clear when Abed leans in and kisses him hello.

“It’s our first Christmas hosting the group here. I wanted there to be cookies.” Troy glances at the festivity war zone around them sheepishly. “I may have gotten… excited.”

“Oh, I figured all that out from context,” Abed says, “I was asking why you’re cooking mostly naked.”

Troy’s mouth makes an O shape.

“Well. Flour started getting everywhere, and you just did the laundry and I didn’t want to do it again, so I thought, what if I had less clothes to clean?!”

His enthusiasm is infectious. Abed can’t help but smile and kiss Troy again. Troy hums contentedly when Abed pulls away.

“I mean, I can’t deny there are other perks,” Troy says with a wink. Abed gives him an appreciative once-over.

“What about this?” asks Abed, pointing at the slightly smoking griddle on the stove.

“Pancakes for dinner. I already had the flour out.”

Abed nods. He seems happy with the dinner prospects, but as Troy starts to really look at him he notices that Abed doesn’t look great: his dark circles are worse than yesterday, his eyes are a little bloodshot, there’s a subtle slouch in his shoulders. Abed’s been quiet for the last couple of weeks. Typically, Troy will give him space, let Abed approach him at his own pace if he wants to, but Troy gets the feeling he should approach this a little differently.

“Hey,” he starts softly, “Are you alright?”

Abed looks away, but doesn’t leave, so Troy turns to the griddle and flips the current batch of pancakes. Abed doesn’t like to be stared at while he’s trying to articulate, and Troy staying nearby until he’s ready to speak helps him feel calmer, more in control.

“I think I should call my mom,” he says. Troy pauses, spatula in midair, and looks at Abed.

“Babe,” he says, quiet. Abed looks so tired. “Are you sure?”

“It’s not about her anymore.” Abed’s voice is slightly strained. “It hasn’t been for years. I know she doesn’t want me, Troy.”

Troy’s heart shatters. He turns off the griddle, pancakes be damned.

“She made it clear when she didn’t come to our wedding, if not before. It’s Marcin.” Abed is shaking a little, in his hands, in his chest. “I didn’t want to give up on him.”

_Like she gave up on me,_ Troy hears, and doesn’t say.

“He just turned ten. I’ve been trying for a decade. I don’t want to stop trying, but.”

Abed pauses, adjusts the hem of his t-shirt. He looks, in so many ways, just like he did when they met, sincere and innocent, vulnerable. He’s older now, though, he carries more. Troy wants to be a sculptor, to smooth the creases where he frowns and wipe the exhaustion from his eyes.

“If he doesn’t want to talk to me.” Abed’s sentences are stilted, his voice fully hoarse now. “I just want to know. I just need to know one way or the other.”

Troy nods, tries to make his expression as compassionate as possible.

“I’m behind you, love,” he says. “A thousand percent.”

Abed hesitates.

“In the interest of communication, I’ll be honest: I thought you would be against this.”

“I’m against you getting hurt, Abed,” Troy says steadily. Abed isn’t typically the one with volatile emotions, so when he is, he needs consistency, grounding. “That’s all I’ve ever worried about. It’s not about me hating your mom, or--”

“But you do.” It’s a question intoned like an answer. “Hate her.”

“I’m not a fan,” Troy concedes. “Because she keeps hurting you. But you know what you need better than anyone, even me, so if what you need is to call your mom, I’m behind you.”

This seems to be a good answer. Abed shuffles forward, and Troy opens his arms. There’s still flour everywhere, but Abed instigated the hug, so he must not mind; Troy holds him tightly, swaying just slightly, grounding him until his breaths have steadied.

When Abed pulls away, Troy wipes his hand on his apron and touches Abed’s face gingerly.

“You can handle this.”

Abed nods.

“I’m gonna do this in the living room,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “I’ll call if I need you.”

“I’ll keep an ear out,” Troy says, squeezing Abed’s hand before he lets go.

Abed leaves. Troy leans on the counter, exhaling slowly. He then shakes his head, turns the stove back on and starts another stack.

When Abed comes back, his eyes are a bit red, but he’s breathing more steadily, slouching less. Troy looks at him hopefully.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Abed says, strangely calm. Troy’s eyes well up with tears.

“Abed, I’m so--”

“No, it’s okay,” he says, softly. “Now I know.”

Troy wraps Abed in their softest blanket and sits him on the couch. He brings Abed a stack of pancakes and puts on _Empire Strikes Back_ , and when Abed has finished eating, he abandons what’s left of his own dinner and holds him.

Abed doesn’t ask him to do any of this, but he doesn’t resist it, either.

\--- 

When Marcin is eleven years old, he gets invited to a sleepover.

It’s his first one. He’s excited; he’s _so_ excited that he packs his overnight bag two days early, and then has to keep digging in it for essential things he needs in the meantime, like his toothbrush, and his favorite Spiderman comic.

He realizes he doesn’t know what people do at sleepovers. Do they play the whole time? He doubts they read; he loves to read, but most of the boys in his class don’t, and certainly not for hours. He thinks they probably watch movies, but he hasn’t seen many of those. He doesn’t think his parents own any.

That is, until it’s almost time to get dropped off, and his mom asks him to grab her jacket from her room. Once inside, the bookshelf in the corner catches his eye.

On the very top is a cardboard box. It looks very old, and one side of it is torn, revealing the glare of a plastic DVD case. Marcin’s eyes widen, and he drags his mother’s vanity chair over to the bookcase and reaches as far as his arms can go. He manages to catch the flap of the cardboard, but he’s unsteady, and the whole box tumbles onto the floor.

He freezes.

After a moment, when no one comes running, he jumps to the floor and starts shuffling through the mess. It’s all DVDs and sealed envelopes. There are nearly a dozen movies here, all of them for children, and he can’t help but wonder why. They don’t even own a TV. He spots one, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ , and remembers hearing Katie mention that name in the cafeteria at school. Katie isn’t going to be at the all-boys sleepover, but if she says it’s good it shouldn’t matter, right?

Marcin shoves the DVD into his backpack and tosses all the other cases back in the box. He can’t manage to put it back on top of the shelf, though, so he sets it on the ground next to the bookcase.

“Mama,” he says as innocently as possible, handing her the jacket, “I knocked a box over. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Did you clean it up?” she asks, not looking up from her phone.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Alright then.” She looks at him now, gives him a small smile. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Mama.”

They’re quiet in the car. They always are. Marcin doesn’t mind; he doesn’t like it when things get loud.

They’re glad he brought it, as it turns out. 7pm rolls around, dinner is finished, and it’s a little more rambunctious than Marcin is used to, but he’s having fun, he thinks. When Jeremy’s mom suggests the movie, Marcin hopes it will calm things down a bit.

When Jeremy’s mom opens the DVD case, a little piece of paper flutters out. She picks it up, looks at it, and hands it to him.

“Is this yours, sweetie?”

Marcin starts to say no, but freezes when he sees his name on it. He blinks and flips it over.

_To Marcin, w twoje dziewiąte urodziny, z miłością._

_Abed_

Marcin can’t remember hearing of an Abed, but he’s starting to wonder about that box in his mother’s bedroom.

He likes the movie. It feels sad sometimes, but he doesn’t mind. He holds hands with Jeremy, which is nice; Jeremy’s mother doesn’t seem to like it at all.

When he’s picked up early the next morning, his Mama is tense.

“I didn’t realize you meant that box, Marcin.”

“I’m sorry. I cleaned it up.”

“It’s-- I know that.” She tightens her fingers around the wheel, takes a short breath. “What did you see?”

He doesn’t know why he lies. It’s not like him, but in the moment it’s all he feels safe doing. He doesn’t want to think about that.

“Nothing, Mama. I saw some movies and some envelopes but I put them all back.”

The note is in his pocket. _Hunchback_ is in his bag.

“Good.” She tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. “Thank you, kochanie.”

When he gets home from school the next day, his mom is still at work. The box in her bedroom is nowhere to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> we'll be done with flashbacks and back to real time next chapter!
> 
> all credit for the name marcin goes to @adorations!
> 
> find me on tumblr @nadir-barnes.


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